


It's All Happening Again

by little Alex (litalex)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-10-01
Updated: 1999-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:58:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litalex/pseuds/little%20Alex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder's first person p.o.v., somewhat addressed to Scully. Bold words are for emphasis, and words in italics are thoughts from that other part of Mulder's brain. Yes, he's talking to himself. Are you actually surprised?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's All Happening Again

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: None of them are mine, but CC's, 1013's, and 20th Century Fox's, blah, blah, blah.
> 
> Feedback: You kidding? I live for this stuff.
> 
> Spoiler: RatB; is that still a spoiler?
> 
> Personal Notes: Extreme gratitude to Barbara Webb, CW, and Carol for beta-reading

It's all happening again.

I sit on the floor, looking at the closed door, where Krycek --  
/Alex!/ -- has just made his exit, and that's the only thought in my  
head. My fingers still around the gun, I lift my hand to examine the  
weapon. Funny that a few minutes of conversation can add so many  
pounds to the gun. Since neither of us has used it, though he might  
as well had, it's still fully loaded. I'd know; it's my gun, after  
all. My other hand seeking support on the sofa, I stand up and put  
the gun back onto the coffee table.

I'm not going to touch the corner of my mouth. I'm not going to  
press the heel of my palm against my cheek and wish that he has  
kissed closer. I'm not going to find a Kleenex and wipe off the  
kiss. And I'm especially not going to run into the bathroom and wash  
off the faint smell of his skin.

I won't do any of these things because they'll be equally useless.  
Wishing that he'd touched his mouth onto mine won't make his earlier  
kisses -- /rain of kisses, shower of kisses; on your mouth, on your  
forehead, on your chest, on your navel/ -- any more vivid, and no  
amount of water can wash away the memories of his musk on me.  
Sometimes, my faithful memory is the best and worst thing that ever  
happened to me.

I hate my memory; how perfectly it continually renders all the  
events in my life. Every single detail, mundane -- /the slight thuds  
of pencils as they hit the office ceiling/ -- or important, from the  
day that Samantha disappeared from my childhood to the day he --  
/and we all know which he we're talking about now, don't we?/ --  
disappeared from my bed, the faint smell of burnt Morleys butts  
still weaving around my nostrils, is contained in this brain of mine.

Please, can I for one second, only one second, forget every moment  
of my life? Forget about my father's very probable involvement in  
the abduction of his own daughter. Forget about my mother's  
mysterious connection to the cancer bastard. Forget about the  
connection between that bastard and the man I lov-- I obsess on.  
Forget about his involvement in the death of my father or Melissa  
Scully.

/Your beautiful Scully, what will she think about this? What will  
she *do*? Can you give her up? Her loyalty despite her skepticism  
and sharp intelligence, her rational 'faith' in science with her  
equally 'irrational' faith in her Catholic God? Her friendship? Her  
*love*? Can you? Would you? Do you truly want to forget everything?  
Even her?/

Forget everything. Forget that I've cost him his arm -- /the horror,  
the pain of it. If you've trusted him, if you've only trusted him.  
That muscular arm, its solid strength around you, with the tempting  
curve of its biceps to the agile fingers, dancing on your skin, is  
forever lost because of you. You!/ -- his left arm. Forget that I've  
ever grown up. Forget the past twenty-five years. And yes, even  
forget you, Scully, my partner in everything except blood, painful  
as it will be. But would it be painful? I wouldn't have known you in  
the first place. /Can you really bear that? Never having known her?/  
No, I can't forget, and not for you. Oh, no, not for you. Forgive  
me, Scully, please forgive me. You ask for absolution from your  
priest, and I can only ask absolution from you and you alone.

I want to remember every single part of my life, every second of  
every hour. From the first few months we spent together during our  
budding relationship, when he was still the green agent, to the  
weeks in Tunguska -- /you screamed, you yelled, you threatened, and  
you begged. But you idiotically did it all to "Krycek." *Krycek*. Of  
course it never had any effect. And yet yet one cracked moan of  
"Alex" brought back all the tenderness that you thought you've lost  
when he became the rat/ -- I want to remember every torturous minute  
of my life.

Is want the accurate word? No, I *need* to remember, for without his  
image haunting my mind, my life is, is... But he's impossible to  
forget now, isn't he? Every time it might finally start happening,  
every time that I can wake up without dreams upon dreams of his  
mouth on me, his cock in me -- /your cock in *him*, fucking him raw  
or making love to him, always driving the both of you to pleasure  
beyond words. Coming inside him, marking him, knowing that you've  
taken his virgin ass/ -- he casually saunters back into my life as  
if our relationship has remained whole and untainted in ways that he  
hasn't.

Ignorance is bliss. Ignorance about the intricate conspiracies of  
our government, about the signs of the extraterrestrials, about  
their invasion, and their plans to colonize our world. Ignorance is  
oblivion. And of course, I only need his little kiss on the cheek,  
the salt of his sweat pressed almost against my mouth, to be  
convinced yet again of my faith in the conspiracies, the alien  
presence: my whole adult life.

I want him; I need him; I crave him. My heart belonged to the search  
for Truth, for Samantha; and to you, Sc-- Dana. Can I call you Dana?  
Sorry that I made you call me Mulder. I didn't know then how nice  
the word Fox could sound when said in love. But my heart; oh, it  
only needed to see him to fly away into his hands. Of course, being  
the kind man that he is, he gave it back to you and my older  
passions. Do you know that you still have my heart? From that first  
moment you stepped into our basement office, it was yours. But you  
didn't want it then, and you don't want it now. And then... and then  
he noticed my soul, stole it, and kept it for himself. He owns it  
now, my soul. No, he *is* my soul. And I can never forget him.

Every feverish kiss of his has been branded onto my skin. The bite  
marks might as well have been scars. Sprinkled all over my mouth is  
the slightly salty taste of him. The bitter yet lightly sweet spice  
of his come still lingers at the tip of my tongue. /And people  
wonder why you like sunflower seeds./ All the murmurs of "I love  
you" against my ear when he was half-asleep feel like they have been  
said only minutes ago. The very feel of him carved onto my heart and  
engraved onto my bones: I can finally understand your religious  
faith. I still don't believe in it, but I understand thoroughly the  
concept of guilt, for Samantha and for him. Yet without remorse,  
what is guilt? The priest cannot bless a sinner when they both know  
completely well that the sinner will continue his behavior.

In the classic pose, I kneel down and pray; not to an uncaring and  
most probably non-existent God, but to the two most important people  
in my life. Dana, forgive me this one failure and fault that I'll  
never try to correct. Alex, come back and let me commit all of you  
into my memory once again. Don't leave me here, alone in my  
apartment, because I need you, for my-- our quest and myself. No, I  
not only need you. For the first time and forever thereafter, Alex,  
I love you. Please never leave me again.

/~~finis~~/


End file.
